


a trashcan fire in a prison cell

by hotdogharvester



Series: "every breath you take" is not a love song [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Captivity, Coercion, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Anguish, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, Stalking, Stockholm Syndrome, Threats of Violence, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2020-12-16 12:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21036149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotdogharvester/pseuds/hotdogharvester
Summary: Tarn is losing patience, and you're losing your mind. You think you don't have anything left to lose besides that. You're wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> things will shortly get completely out of hand

Tarn knew what it was like to be small: to be overlooked. To be derided and underestimated by people who were supposed to be your allies. To be ignored and condescended to by pompous, dimwitted Autobots so convinced of their own moral superiority.

Megatron had told him he was special, that he was _valuable_, and he had treasured those words like they were rare gems. It wasn’t just what Megatron had said, either; Megatron had made him _feel_ special. He had always taken time out of his own perilously busy schedule to talk with Tarn, and provide guidance whenever needed. Even before he had fully devoted himself to the Decepticon cause Megatron had always been there for him. Oh, that was all so long ago now. It hurt to think of those lost moments of intimacy. He would never get them back.

It should have been sweet to bestow that kind of attention on someone else. It almost was with his team. They were his peers. They respected him. How could they not? It was good to work with them but his spark still craved a certain something. Somehow, it wasn’t the same with an equal.

Tarn had told Jane she was special and she gritted her teeth in fear.

That hadn’t been so concerning at first. Tarn hadn’t expected her to leap into his arms the moment he came into her life, but he had certainly expected more flexibility on her part. More…adaptability.

Humans, like most organic creatures, were changeable. They had lasted so long on Earth in spite of their paltry lifespans because they were so adaptable. That was what made them so dangerous. Organics had to be eliminated in part because they would continue to adapt and change and reproduce across the universe like a cancer until they were the only things left living. It was basic science.

Her attempted escape when they first met had been disappointing but not surprising. He knew that as soon as he moved her somewhere private and quiet she would calm down and accept him. As soon as there was no possibility of professional ramifications she would be glad he had spirited her away from her unsatisfying and, frankly, inappropriate position with the Autobots.

It had not even occurred to him that she would stay closed off from him after the abduction. Tarn was at his wit’s end. He had been so, so patient, and she still resisted him at every turn. Lied to him. Lied to _herself_. He had to assume that this was some kind of misdirected survival impulse but now it was long past the point at which she should have dropped this charade.

Yes, her secret desires were deviant. Yes, it was wrong for either of them to feel this way. “Wrong.” What did that word even mean by now? None of this was supposed to matter anymore, but she just couldn’t let go. She refused to accept that this was a safe place, and that it was a good, fine thing for two of them to have this connection.

Once, not so very long ago, (wasn’t it funny how quickly things could change?) he had fantasized about killing her. No, not her: _it_. Before he knew better, she had been an _it_, and he had daydreamed about _it_ begging him to show mercy as he crushed it or strangled it or tore it limb from fleshy limb. Of course, in the fantasy, he hadn’t understood any of its wretched squalling and bleating. It had been a beast: wordless, but suffering no less for its wordlessness.

Now that he knew her, his daydreams were a bit different. He fantasized—just as often, and just as fiercely—about her begging him for _more_. Tell me more, she would ask. Show me more. One more song, please. One more time.

He knew it wouldn’t soothe her to know how little time had elapsed since the change in fantasies.

Today…she hadn’t begged him to stop. Not exactly.

_Stop. I’m telling you to stop._

_Don’t you fucking dare._

_No._

_I said, ‘no.’_

She certainly _had_ said no, over and over, with her words and her scowling, even after he manipulated her flesh into saying, “yes.” He had assaulted her. He had no illusions about this. It might have been wrong but it was _necessary_. She had made it necessary with her refusal to accept his entreaties, to say nothing of her refusal to take care of herself. He knew that she hadn’t self-serviced since before her arrival on board, when she had previously done so almost every day. That couldn’t be healthy: letting that potent desire build up and up with no release. It wasn’t like her.

If only she weren’t so stubbornly opposed to meeting him halfway then none of this mess would have been necessary.

No…no, that wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t wrong but it also wasn’t helpful. He was the one in control. He should never have let it reach this point. Maybe he should have told her sooner that he knew her secret instead of waiting and waiting for her to come to him. Maybe practicing any restraint at all had been the real mistake. Maybe he had simply expected too much of her. She was only a human, after all.

Now, as she trembled in his grasp, still buzzing from the aphrodisiac he had slipped into her food, he knew that she was further away from him than ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A secret given, unwanted, for a secret taken, unwilling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a hundred percent on my bullshit and I want to share with you a tiny piece of Angela Carter's landmark short story "The Bloody Chamber," which permanently warped my brain when I first read it nearly a decade ago.
> 
> "The evidence of that bloody chamber had showed me I could expect no mercy. Yet, when he raised his head and stared at me with his blind, shuttered eyes as though he did not recognize me, I felt a terrified pity for him, for this man who lived in such strange, secret places that, if I loved him enough to follow him, I should have to die."
> 
> "The atrocious loneliness of that monster!"

_ I’m a frog, and he’s boiling me, _ you think.

That’s what you think when he sets you back down on the bed in your cell. It’s not a room; it’s a cell. The moment you started thinking of it as a room was like giving him the nod to crank up the gas. Every time you didn’t flinch in disgust from his touch added another degree to the water temperature. And today? The drugging? The assault? That wasn’t the climax. That was just a harbinger of things to come. The water’s not boiling yet, but if you don’t get out soon, you’ll die.

It wasn’t like this in the early days. Ha. The early days. You remember the second occasion that he came to your cell, after the incident in which you slammed your head against his hands and he rubbed your back until you stopped crying. He didn’t touch you on the second visit. When you raised your chin and asked if he had contacted a negotiator, he laughed.

“Oh, you dear thing. You’re not a hostage. There’s no exchange happening.”

He told you right then, didn’t he? There are no rules. Tarn can feign civility and romance but his  _ desires _ make the only structure here. There is no exchange. There is no balance, you have no leverage, and you know he won’t be satisfied with just using his hands on you. It’s going to get worse.

None of this explains why he didn’t reveal from the start that he knew your disgusting little secret.

Cybertronians killed more than a billion humans on earth. A fair number are still out there killing other organics. Tarn himself is trying to restart the goddamned war. Getting caught with xenophile pornography is just one step down from getting caught sucking spike in real life. Unless Tarn was lying—and unfortunately you have no reason to believe that he was—he has incriminating footage of you, and he also has a vested interest in forcing you to do things you don’t want to do.

If your “preferences” ever became public knowledge it would almost certainly destroy your career. At the very least you’d lose the cushy government job with all the associated benefits. You might even be charged with treason, though that’s less likely now that you’ve gone through the trauma of abduction: less likely, but not impossible. The footage from the camera drones planted in your apartment wouldn’t be admissible in any court, but people would still know. Some might say you had this coming, what with your grotesque predilections.

The professional consequences would be bad enough, but the social ones? Unthinkable. You already have a strained relationship with your family because you physically left the planet. Taking a job with an alien government is what drove the final wedge between you and your ex. They took half your friend group in the firestorm of the breakup. This revelation would lose you the other half.

And if that happens, what’s waiting for you back on Earth? If there are other humans like you then you don’t want to know them. You don’t even want to know yourself. It’s not right. No one was supposed to know. It was private. It was fucking  _ private _ .

You’re so deep down the catastrophic thought spiral you almost don’t notice Tarn lingering awkwardly by the bed.

“I shouldn’t have forced you,” he says at last.

This is so surprising that you unfurl from your fetal pose and stare at him. He’s gazing somewhere over your head.

“I wish that it had not come to that,” he continues. “If I had known just how deep your denial ran I would have approached you differently from the start.”

You can feel your face twisting into some awful grimace, but your emotions are all out of sync. The anger you should be feeling is skipping around like a chipped vinyl record.

“Next time will be better,” he says.

And then he turns to leave.

_ Next time? _ you think, aghast.  _ Next time? Fucking NEXT TIME? _

“Wait,” you say.

Tarn pauses.

“Who else…do the others know? Do the rest of them know about…those things you said I did?”

The words are bitter and tactile in your mouth, like little stones.

“You don’t need to keep lying,” he says, exasperated.

“Do they  _ know _ ?”

He turns all the way around.

“No. Only Kaon, and I’ve ordered him never to speak of it.”

That explains a lot of that particular scumbag’s behavior.

“Ah. Ok. This is starting to make more sense. I do what you want, or you’ll ruin me, right?”

“Excuse me?”

“If I ever did manage to get away, you wouldn’t keep that secret. You’d leak that drone footage. I’d never be able to go home.”

Tarn cocks his head, affronted.

“I would never humiliate you publically like that.”

The needle that draws forth your emotions has found its groove and your temper is rising.

“Oh, not in public? Just in private?”

He finally makes eye contact.

“You knew…the whole time. All the days and weeks I’ve been holed up here against my will. All this time. Why wait? What did you think was going to happen, that you were going to drug me and then I’d just…fall into your arms?”

Tarn curls his enormous hands into fists, and then relaxes them.

“Truthfully, yes. I had thought it was the  _ choice _ that was upsetting to you: that admitting you wanted me was somehow more of a hindrance than the wanting itself. I thought it was only simple pride preventing you from reaching out to me, and that if I could get around that with a little chemical assistance it would be better for both of us. Now I know I was wrong.”

It’s not immediately clear if he can see the difference between your dark secret, your (completely imaginary, on his part) attraction to him specifically, your dislike of him as a person, and your moral objections to every aspect of this scenario. It would take a team of skilled therapists to get to the bottom of it.

“However,” he continues, “I believe that being in such deep denial about one aspect of oneself indicates the potential for other springs of dishonesty.”

A little bit of loathing swirls through you.

“Just because something is a  _ secret _ doesn’t mean I’m in denial about it. It just means I don’t want to talk about it with  _ you _ . Don’t…ok. Listen. Just let me say this. It really, truly is not your business. It’s not  _ anyone’s _ business. It’s private, and it’s a secret, because it disgusts me: because I’m ashamed of it.”

“You don’t have to be ashamed here.”

“Well I am! I should be! And so should you. It  _ is _ bad. It  _ is _ shameful. It was supposed to be a secret. You fucking accuse me of ‘laying myself out’ but  _ you _ were the one spying on  _ me _ . If I’d had any idea that someone was watching…Jesus! FUCK! I kept it secret because I didn’t want anyone else to fucking KNOW. Why is this so difficult for you to understand?”

Tarn lunges forward faster than you can see and wraps his arms around you, holding you steady in his closest approximation of a comforting gesture. Your whole body is tucked against his chest with room to spare.

“No one else will know. I promise. Your reputation is safe.  _ You’re  _ safe here, with me. The only people who even know you’re here are the people aboard this ship. Remember? We left no survivors when we took you. As far as the universe is concerned, you were killed when the Decepticon Justice Division attacked a minor Autobot outpost in the Seleucid system. Jane Doe is  _ dead _ . And even if, somehow, someone did find out that you were still alive, they would correctly assume that you were brought here by force, and that you had no choice in anything that happened to you. No one else will know your secret. You can let go. It’s all right.  _ No one else will know _ . You don’t have to compromise your morals. Forget about them. You’re safe now. Forget about everything you were warned against and  _ be with me _ .” 

The minute vibrations of his engine are soft against your flesh. If you leaned your head against him, it might even be pleasant. The drug still has you extra sensitive—sensitive in a very intimate sort of way—and it’s making you nauseous.

“You can’t…you can’t just ask me to be with you. I can’t. You  _ know _ why I can’t do that.”

“Would it really be so terrible? Hm? Would it be worse than fighting me all the time?”

The horrible truth is that you’re starting to think it’s not worth the trouble to keep resisting. You’re so, so tired.

Tarn adds, imploring, “You can leave it all behind, Jane. I can give you that. I can give you that freedom.”

_ ‘Freedom.’ Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. I had a life and you fucking took it from me. All I have is myself and I won’t even have that if I can’t figure out a way to get out. _

“I’ll tell you a secret,” he whispers. “Something I’m ashamed of. So we’re even.”

It’s taking all your remaining strength to hold back the tears. He’s quiet for so long you think he’s waiting for you to say something.

“I used to be an Autobot.”

You look up, tilting your head back a little. His face is so close that if he weren’t wearing that stupid mask you’d be able to kiss him. Rather...he’d be able to kiss you. Not the other way around.

“What?”

He’s not making eye contact now. His words are soft and hurried.

“A long time ago, but yes. Not even a neutral: an honest to goodness, branded  _ Autobot _ . I even did some work with Optimus Prime, if you can believe that. I can’t regret it completely because it did end up leading me to the true path but I...I did a huge number of things I’m not proud of before I saw the light. It’s not really what anyone expects of the ‘esteemed leader’ of the Decepticon Justice Division. Megatron especially wanted me to keep it quiet. And...I didn’t want anyone to know either. Even if it might have made a good example for wavering soldiers I was so ashamed that anyone might know just how stupid and naïve I had once been. So I don’t talk about it. Haven’t even mentioned it for millennia. Not until just now.”

You  _ know _ him by now. He’s feigned softness before but this is genuine vulnerability. There’s no smugness or superiority in Tarn in this moment. He has you at his mercy like he has a hundred other times but he won’t even look at you.

“I wasn’t even forged in this frame. Did you know that? Many more people know about that than about...before. It was decided by my superiors that I should take on a form more befitting a mech of my…unique talents. It took me a very, very long time to get accustomed to this body. Even today, sometimes when I catch a glimpse of my reflection it takes me a moment to remember that that’s me.”

Something’s coming. You can feel it.

“None of my duties come naturally to me. Not one. Even my voice took nearly a million years to perfect. I’ve never relished the violence though I carry it out with no hesitation. Every drop of energon spilt is necessary but oh, my soloist, it  _ weighs _ on me. You can’t imagine how it weighs on me.

“The only time when I truly feel like myself—when I feel at peace—is when I’m with you.”

And there it is.

You know, just as surely as you know that fire burns and flesh rots, that he’s telling the truth.

It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. But you’ve been stuck here for weeks, and Stockholm wasn’t built in a day.

“I want this relationship to be a respite for both of us. We both deserve a break from other people’s expectations. I can be a home for you, Jane. I want to be a home for you: and you for me.”

The nausea’s gone but you feel like you’re floating: pins and needles all over your skin. Everything is too close and too far away. You think that if you close your eyes and concentrate, you’ll be able to see the jaws of the trap he’s set closing around you. Tarn is the trap and the bait. There is nothing else in the universe right now.

Your voice is dull, as if sounding through a thick layer of cotton.

“I think I need to be alone right now. Please.”

It might be a moment or a minute or half an hour (time is real funny down in the smothering pits of dissociation, trapped in the dead flesh of your body like an insect in amber) but Tarn does as you request and leaves. An indescribable quantity of time passes before you come back to yourself. When you do, you remember a little something about frogs. It’s not actually possible to boil them alive without them noticing. When the water gets too hot, they always try to jump out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The atrocious loneliness of that monster, indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things get worse

Usually—inasmuch as something like “usually” can exist in this place—you while away your alone time with what little exercise you can accomplish with no equipment and no mirrors to check your form. You’ve gotten really good at pushups and jumping jacks. Running laps in the dreary room makes you dizzy, but there’s just enough floor space to do some very short sprints. For about thirty feet on a flat surface you’re the fastest you’ve ever been.

None of that’s happening today, though. The comedown from the aphrodisiac leaves you feeling gray and brittle. You pass the hours drifting from nightmares to dull wakefulness, leaning against the wall when lying in bed inevitably becomes intolerable.

Tarn comes back in the “evening” to give you meal number two, as he always does. His step is a little slower, his voice a little softer than usual when he says, “Hello, Jane.”

“You know that's not my name.”

“Pardon?”

“‘Jane Doe.’ I know you read my file, remember? It’s not what I was born with. It’s not my real name.”

Tarn withdraws a bottle of water and a meal packet from his subspace, eying you from the other side of the room.

“It’s your chosen designation, is it not?”

“Yes but…it’s not a real name.”

“If you would prefer I call you by the ‘birth name’ listed in your personnel file I can certainly do so.”

“No. No, I would not like that at all.”

Tarn looks at you expectantly. You sigh.

“You seem to have such a stick up your…up your exhaust, I guess, about me being ‘dishonest,’ I figured that would count as dishonesty to you. Going by a different name. I was wondering why you hadn’t brought it up yet.”

He rolls the water bottle between his fingers. Even mass converted he’s so big it looks like a tube of chapstick in his hand.

“It didn’t seem necessary to bring up. It hardly counts as dishonesty to change one’s name. Far from it: I think it a mark of growth to cast off a name given to you without your consent and choose one with more significance.”

Tarn lowers himself to the ground and sits with his legs crossed. Instead of summoning you over, he continues to speak.

“I was forged _in_ Tarn, but that wasn’t always my name. ‘Tarn of Tarn’ has a funny ring to it, don’t you think? I took it on so that I could, like you, leave my past behind. My original name no longer suited me, just as I suspect yours no longer suits you. We shed our labels like ill-fitting armor and come away stronger for it.”

You draw in a long breath.

“I’m not so sure about that,” you reply.

It seems like he’s smiling. You can feel your palms getting hot.

“Well. You know what mine means. My teammates and I all took the names of–”

“–the first five cities to fall to Decepticon rule, I know.”

“Yes. What about you? What does ‘Jane Doe’ mean to you?”

_Oh, why not. I’ll humor him. Buy myself a scrap of time before he loses his temper at me again._

“It’s, ah, it’s kind of a sick joke, actually.”

You shift from foot to foot, leaning back against the wall a little more.

“I thought that if I were going to a place where I’d probably be the only human, then I wouldn’t need my own name anymore. But, I don’t think they’d let me work anywhere with no name. So...Jane Doe. It’s the next best thing.”

“How so?”

“On Earth, when someone is involved in a legal case but wants to stay anonymous, their name is recorded as Jane Doe or John Doe or something similar. It’s like a placeholder. Or...an alias. I think there's a corollary in Cybertronian culture but I can’t pronounce it in my native tongue. My coworkers didn’t know there was anything strange about it so it worked out just fine for me.”

You wonder what he would think if he knew that “Jane Doe” is also a name given to corpses that can’t be identified: a name that isn’t a name for people who aren’t people. An admission that someone is missing. Something empty: just like you.

“Interesting,” he replies. “Perhaps we can discuss this more after you eat.”

Your heart sinks. You had hoped you would be able to keep him distracted for just a little bit longer.

When you don’t move from where you’re leaning against the wall, Tarn holds the meal packet out in front of him.

“Well, come on. You need your fuel.”

“No.”

You can feel yourself getting lightheaded in anticipation.

“No? You want something different?”

“No.”

Tarn cocks his head.

“What is it?”

You cross your arms and hug yourself hard.

“I’m not eating until after you leave.”

Tears are welling up in your eyes. He’s still sitting but you’re so frightened you could puke. You might still.

“Is that so?” he murmurs.

“I’m not letting you do that to me again.”

He taps a finger on his knee, never breaking eye contact.

“I wasn’t going to drug you again without your explicit consent. Come over here.”

“No.”

Your chin is quivering. You can’t help it.

“What do you think you’re accomplishing by acting so obstinate?”

“You…you _hurt_ me, so I’m not eating with you anymore. It’s not like I have any other cards to play.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

You unfurl your arms and let your fists hang by your sides. Channeling the fear into anger is difficult, but not as difficult as saying “no” in the first place.

“If it really upsets you so much, Tarn, you could just force me. Stick a tube down my throat. Send it directly into my stomach. Is that what you want? Or you could just sit in here and wait and stare at me until I go insane. Would that work for you?”

Tears are running down your face. He’s definitely not smiling anymore.

“You do continue to surprise me, my soloist. Always performing; always so…_calculated_.”

Tarn heaves himself up into a standing position but makes no moves in your direction. The water bottle and meal packet are on the floor.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t neglect your diet on my account.”

And then he’s gone.

You wait maybe half an hour before creeping across the floor and making short work of the meal. Eating in private is such a novelty. It’s been so long since you’ve had any real food that the packet sludge almost tastes good. Almost.

  * •  •

When the lights come back on in the “morning” Helex is waiting for you. Like a dozen other times he tosses the balled-up blindfold in your direction. You tie it around your head and follow him out, heeding the few directional commands he offers in his rumbling voice. He walks behind you: close enough to grab but not so close that his canoe-sized feet are in danger of stepping on you.

“So, you like your job?”

“What?”

By his tone, you can tell Helex wasn’t expecting you to say anything at all.

“Your job. You enjoy it?”

Helex stays silent so long you think he’s not going to answer, but then:

“It’s not a _job_. I don’t get paid. I do what I do because it’s necessary.”

He pauses.

“But yeah, I do enjoy it.”

“No mixed feelings about all the, uh, violence?”

“Nope.”

“Really? You don’t feel any conflict about committing murder?”

“Just ‘cause it’s murder doesn’t mean it’s a crime, fleshy. If you weren’t an animal you might understand.”

“An animal. Hm. You think I’m an animal?”

“Might as well be.”

Helex sounds like he’d rather be scrubbing toilets than have any kind of conversation with you. You have no real power in this situation, but there’s something kind of sweet about knowing that he can’t just walk away. Annoyance is all you have and by god you’re going to make use of it.

“You realize, by that logic, your boss is committing bestiality, right? Do Decepticons even have a word for that? It means–”

“I know what it means. I’m not _stupid_.”

He hisses out the word “stupid.” Silence puddles around the two of you, nothing disturbing it but your footfalls. A minute or so later you start again.

“I’m far from an expert, but…Tarn’s taught me a lot about the movement in the last few weeks. History. Philosophy. I can’t recall any aspect of Decepticonism that says, ‘bestiality is totally fine,’ or one that says, ‘abducting and ra–’”

“Shut up. What makes you think I wanna hear any of this? And why the frag are you so chatty all of a sudden?”

“Do you want me on this ship, Helex?”

“What are you even talking about?”

“If you were the leader and Tarn the subordinate, would you let him keep me?”

“Fleshy, if it were up to me, your whole planet would have been an ash field centuries ago.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Frag what you asked. If you don’t shut up I’m gonna make a formal suggestion that Tarn adds a gag to this little getup.”

You take a deep breath.

“Helex, I shouldn’t be here. By any reasonable standard, I should not be aboard this ship. It makes no sense. It would be in everyone’s best interests if I were somewhere else.”

“You mean if you escaped.”

That makes you pause. You didn’t think he would just say it. You had expected to dance around this for several more minutes.

“I don’t think that’s possible. Not on my own.”

“You would need help,” he adds.

You swallow hard before responding.

“Yes. I would need help.”

“Now isn’t _that_ interesting,” he purrs.

Then he laughs: a booming, scornful laugh.

“Keep dreamin’, fleshy. The day I lift a finger to help a rotten little beast like you is the day they melt me down for scrap.”

Well. That’s not surprising. You didn’t actually think he would help you but the dismissal is still irritating. Time to change tactics. Before speaking again, you slide your left hand up the front of your body very, very slowly and hold it under your chin. You don’t think he can see what you’re doing. It’s pretty important that he doesn’t see what you’re doing.

“Ok. That’s fine. I have another idea. Think about this. What if…and I only ask because I know you’re not going to help me escape…what if you just stepped on my head and killed me? Eh? What about that?”

Helex makes a gagging sound.

“What is _wrong_ with you? Don’t joke about that.”

Oh?

“I’m not joking. And what’s wrong with _you_? I thought you were all about violence.”

“Not like THAT. Ugh, organic lives are so short already, it’s so creepy that you’d have a death wish.”

Ah. Here, Helex has made a critical error of honesty. You can make him regret admitting that.

“Well, I want out of here, and as far as I can see there’s only one way to do it if no one will help me. Squish me. It’ll be fun.”

Your tone is as casual as you can make it but you’re struggling not to giggle. Your left hand is tingling in anticipation.

“How about you stop talking and you can have your little existential crisis after Tarn comes to get you?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about killing me. It would be so _easy_. You could do it without even noticing.”

“I’m not listening.”

“You wouldn’t even have to step on me. You could just pick me up in one of your giant hands and squeeze until–”

“I have DEACTIVATED my AUDIALS. I CANNOT HEAR YOU. If you have an ACTUAL PROBLEM before we get BACK to your ROOM you can FRAG YOURSELF.”

You laugh, high and hysterical. Who knew a career murderer would be so squeamish?

Helex is officially ignoring you. That’s good. Knowing that he has some bizarre aversion to killing you is just an added bonus.

Without making any sudden movements, you slide your hand up your face and slip the blindfold up and away from your left eye. It takes you a few moments to adjust to the light but you keep your pace steady and your head still.

The blindfold situation has always been stupid. Not for the first time, you think about how lucky it is that your captor has never insisted on leashing you or binding your arms. Tarn describes it as a kind of “civil agreement” between you and whoever happens to be leading you around. You don’t try to run, and they don’t put you in shackles. He respects you enough to let you out for walks but he also clearly doesn’t think you capable of making a break for it. Granted, you can’t really blame him for that. You’ve spent most of your time here cowering and trying to politely convince him to reconsider.

No more of that. Not anymore.

“You’re really not listening to me right now? Can’t hear anything I say? Here’s something: your boss is a pervert and you look like a mutated crockpot. Any thoughts on that?”

No answer.

Perfect.

From the back it should look like you’re still trundling along blindly, completely unaware of your surroundings.

The floor of the corridor is black, the walls and ceiling dark gray with light purple accents. It’s remarkable only for its size…and its single safety feature. You have no doubt that particular bit of décor was all Tarn’s idea. For all his pomposity and theatricality he’s a stickler for regulations. This manifests in the architecture of the _Peaceful Tyranny_. If he were human he’d make a top class OSHA manager.

In the middle of the hallway floor is a glowing neon purple line, periodically intercut with arrows, that almost certainly points the way to the escape pods.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Don’t give yourself away.

This is a big gamble you’re taking. You don’t know for sure that Helex is slow; you only know that he’s extremely heavy, and thus that it probably takes him longer than most mechs to build up speed. Odds are, you’ll run into someone even less friendly than Helex before you can get anywhere near the escape pods.

The corridor opens up to the right and left up ahead but you can’t quite see which way the arrows are going from this distance.

Closer and closer.

For about thirty feet on a flat surface you’re the fastest you’ve ever been.

You know you probably won’t make it off this ship alive.

Step by step.

It’s still worth a shot.

You can see, just barely, that the arrows at the intersection up ahead point to the right.

The distance is too difficult to judge without depth perception, but moving the blindfold over your right eye might be too obvious. You can’t tip him off before you start running.

Breathe in, breathe out, step, step, breathe in, breathe out, step, breathe in, whip the blindfold off and _run_.

You nearly stumble on the rubberized floor with how hard you launch yourself forward, but after that terrifying almost-fall you get your legs in order and sprint away like a quarter horse.

Helex bellows something in Cybertronian and stomps after you. You can feel the floor shaking under his feet, but you’re still running, _and he can’t catch you_.

Instead of tiring out once you’ve made it farther than the distance you could cover in your cell, you feel like you could run forever. If your life wasn’t in danger you might take time to indulge in a giddy laugh.

And then, as you’re nearing the intersection, you hear the unmistakable _TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHU-TSCHE _of a transformation sequence, followed immediately by an engine roaring to life behind you. That puts the fear—if not of death, than of grievous bodily harm—right back into you.

You hang the tightest right you can, eyes on the purple line, and skid to a stop.

Tarn is a hundred yards ahead of you, a datapad in hand, his walk slowing to a halt as he locks eyes with you.

You’ll never be able to get past him.

For a split second, you panic, frozen in place, and then you spin around and sprint in the opposite direction. Tarn yells your name and gives chase, his footsteps all but drowned out by the thunder of Helex’s engine. A deafening crash followed by a howl of rage—Tarn’s, because it makes the lights flicker and hum—causes you to look back for a moment. Helex and Tarn hit the intersection at the same time and collided. Tarn is pinned between his colossal subordinate and the wall, but not for long. You call upon reserves of speed you don’t really have and keep running.

The next turn takes you to a shorter hallway with one large door on the right and three on the left, the last of which is open. Panting hard, you run toward the far wall and steal a glance at the next corridor opening opposite the doorway. It stretches far off into the distance, so long and straight that you know you’d be caught before you reached the end.

Behind you, around the corner, the approaching din of two infuriated Decepticons grows louder and louder.

Closer and closer.

Doorway it is, then. You dash over the threshold and stop dead once again. Vos is standing at the far wall with his back to the entrance, poring over a shelf full of datapads. He doesn’t turn around when you come in. All the walls are lined with shelves and all the shelves are packed with files and devices. The only exit is the one behind you. Your last shreds of a plan are going up in smoke.

As quickly and quietly as you can, you sidle over to one of the shelves and duck behind it. There’s enough room between it and the wall for you to squeeze in and crabwalk a few feet in the darkness but that’s all.

The cacophony in the hallway rises to a peak and then quiets. Heavy footfalls enter the room. Tarn demands something of Vos, and they speak back and forth for a few moments before Tarn switches to English.

“I know you’re in here, Jane.”

This is the angriest he’s sounded since…well, since yesterday.

“There’s nowhere else you could have gone. Come out of wherever it is you’re hiding so we can talk about this.”

You knew in your heart you weren’t going to be able to get off this ship. That doesn’t make it any easier to face. Nothing left to do now but wait.

“Jane. Whether you show yourself voluntarily or not, I will _not_ hurt you, but there _will_ be consequences if you insist on behaving in such a petulant manner.”

You close your eyes for just a moment and lean your head back.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The shelves move away from you with a scraping groan of metal on metal. Tarn, Vos, and Helex are all glowering down at you. Tarn barks out a single glyph and the two of them file out. The door slides shut behind them.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Tarn asks.

You squeeze your hands into fists and grit your teeth.

“You’ve disappointed me today. I really thought we were closer than this. You realize this means no more unfettered walks, yes? You’ll have to be collared if you go anywhere without me. Just like Kaon’s _pet_.”

If he’s trying to bait you into saying something he’s going to have to try harder than that. But…not much harder.

“What did you think was going to happen?” he continues, snide and irritated.

“Helex pinged me during your little chat, of course. Were you planning to somehow evade every safety precaution by yourself and _leave_? You’re an administrative assistant: not a pilot. Those emergency pods are keyed to the crew of this ship and no one else. Even if you were mechanical you wouldn’t be able to use them.”

The lights are wavering as his temper climbs.

“Tell me, where would you even _go_? Earth? They don’t want you there. The Autobots wouldn’t want you back, if they ever wanted you in the first place. Where would you go? Nowhere. There is _nowhere_ for you to go. The only place where someone like you belongs is _here_, with me.”

“I’d do it again,” you mutter.

“What was that?” he hisses.

“I said, ‘I’d do it again’.”

His right hand is twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

You say, “I’d rather die trying to escape this hellhole than sit on my hands and wait for you to rape me again.”

“‘I’d rather die’,” he repeats, mocking, and half the lights in the ceiling blow out.

Tarn kneels down. You manage to take a single step away from him before he cages you in one hand and rises back up to his full height, pinning you against the wall. He’s never spent much time with you without being mass converted. Being level with his mask like this, so high up you’d break at least one leg if you fell, is like being in the grip of Polyphemus.

His tone of voice is very much the same as the last time he pinned you against a wall.

“You really are determined to be miserable, aren’t you? Fine. I’m going to tell you what I _could_ do right now if I were really the monster you seem to think I am. If I really wanted to I could just force you: fuck you dry and bloody against any wall on this ship. It would be so, so easy to break you like that. I wouldn’t even have to mass convert; I could just spear you on one of my fingers like a sad little toy. Is that what you want me to do? Is it?

“I could give you a full dose of that stimulant. Yes, what I gave you was only half the recommended dose for a human of your size. What do you think a full one would do to you? Think about it. You thought _yesterday_ was humiliating? I could have you begging for my whole team to ravage you.

“I could even do without any chemical assistance and simply refuse to feed you until you spread your legs for me. Would that be more in line with your expectations?”

Tarn adjusts his grip on your torso and _squeezes_. A gasp of pain erupts from your throat and you beat your palms against his hand.

“No, please—”

“Or maybe you just don’t want to take the necessary initiative for committing suicide. If you really would rather die than be intimate with me then I can certainly make that happen. It’s not as if we lack for lethal weapons here. Is that what you want? No waiting necessary. I can do that _right now._”

He squeezes again and you wail. At least one of your ribs is cracked and you can’t take a full breath.

_He’s actually going to kill me_, you think.

“No, no, please, I can’t breathe, please, I don’t want to die_—_”

“Say that again.”

“I-I don’t want to die!”

“_Louder_.”

“I DON’T WANT TO _DIE_, TARN, _PLEASE!_”

He loosens his grip and you pull in a huge breath. Tears are streaming down your face. Long, hiccupping sobs wrack your whole body.

“Please…please…I don’t want to die, I just want to be free. I just want to be left alone. Please. I shouldn’t be here.”

Tarn brushes the hair matted with sweat and tears away from your face with one finger on his other hand. You can barely see his mask with how hard you’re crying.

“Please don’t kill me.”

Your voice sounds like it belongs to someone else.

“I would never,” he croons. “Not even if you begged me to.”

“Please,” you whisper, and you don’t even know what you’re pleading for.

Without another word he opens his subspace compartment and places your limp form inside. Before you can ask him what he’s doing he shuts it, and you’re alone in the dark in zero gravity, where there is no sound but the beating of your heart, the rasping of your breath, and before long the screams that seem to split your throat in two. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a lot of this while listening to the Chicken Run soundtrack, but I had to keep skipping the more triumphant tracks.

**Author's Note:**

> more coming eventually  
tags will update with new installments  
stay tuned


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